“Fuck,” he muttered, then followed her, giving a muffled shout as he hammered between her legs. Even when his arousal waned, he circled inside her, hips rolling and rolling, dragging on her heated walls until she groaned and rocked against him, and he was hard again.
This time, he let his weight pin her to the mattress, bracketed her face between his large palms and held her while he rubbed his lips over hers then thrust his tongue inside.
She sucked on it, the way she wanted to suck on his cock, and he must have read her mind because he groaned into her mouth and then pulled away, backing onto his knees. His cock pulsed, tapping his belly. He stared down at it then aimed a hot glance her way.
Sophie got her elbows beneath her. “Fuck my mouth.”
He stepped over her until his knees were braced apart on either side of her chest, then he leaned over her, a hand against the wall as he guided his cock into her mouth.
Her tongue lapped at the smooth head. Her lips closed around the shaft, just beneath the glans and suctioned hard while he began to move in and out, past her teeth, along her tongue, against the back of her throat. She swallowed, caressing the head.
A hand cupped the back of her head, giving her support, and his strokes quickened. “Swallow, baby. Take it,” he whispered.
Her muffled mewling cries vibrated around him, and he cried out, thick surges of cum splashing at the back of her throat.
When he pulled away, he scooted down until he could bend to kiss her mouth. “Baby, that was so goddamn hot.”
The dream had ended there with his wet cock digging into her belly—before they’d shared names, before they’d agreed to see each other again. Not the sort of dream she’d ever had before—or at least not so long and detailed. It was like a scene from a smutty romance novel, rose petals and all.
Still, she’d been left wet, aching, and the dildo hadn’t filled the empty space inside her. If only she had the courage to approach him. Maybe he’d be as sexy, well endowed and skilled as her dream lover—or maybe he’d be a complete dick.
Either way, she’d bring an end to this wanting.
Daniel Moore settled onto his seat in the subway car and raked a hand through his wet hair. He’d woken late and flown through his morning routine, skipping breakfast because he hadn’t wanted to wait on the next train. He’d have missed her, and for some strange reason, seeing the sexy little brunette in her plain dark skirts, white button-down blouses and running shoes ensured a pleasant start to his mornings.
Danny flipped open the newspaper he’d grabbed from in front of his apartment door before he’d run down the stairs, and he pretended to read the headlines while his gaze followed the length of her pale, sturdy legs.
They weren’t the longest or the sleekest, and that hint of muscle at the back of her calf wasn’t all that noteworthy, but they drew his gaze up to her thighs. Her minis were modest and her thighs were rounded—not fat but feminine. And just like he did every morning, he wondered how soft the skin cloaking those luscious thighs would be.
That thought was all it took to send him straight into arousal so strong, he had to place both feet on the floor and spread his legs slightly, the newspaper the only thing shielding his interest from the other passengers crowding into the car.
The woman was an obsession, a daily good-luck charm. If her gaze fanned him once and lingered for even a moment, his whole body warmed. He hadn’t approached her yet, hadn’t wanted to let his anticipation tarnish his morning moments, because she’d fed every wet dream he’d had the past few weeks. Since he’d broken up with Jen, “subway girl” was the closest thing he’d had to a date. Every day when he counted down the cars until he found the one she always sat inside, he wondered if the thrill would still be there. Today, it was definitely alive.
Her legs turned to the side, and she slid one thigh over the other, the quick split teasing him. If she were his, if they’d been alone, he’d have snuck a hand between her thighs, preventing her from closing them tight, and sunk his fingers into her cunt.
Her lush mouth would open, her teeth biting into her lip, her lids sliding down her wide brown eyes to give him a dreamy sex-starved look that would have him on his knees in a second and spreading those thighs wide. Daniel breathed evenly but deeply and sank deeper into his fantasy.
The people around them faded to shadows; the rumble of the train quieted so that all he could hear were her moans and the succulent clasping of her pussy.
His hands smoothed up the inside of her thighs. She lifted her butt off the seat, and he pushed up her skirt to expose the modest white panties that covered her sex and bottom.
Rather than closing her legs to pull her underwear down, he tucked a finger under the banding at one side and pulled her panties aside to expose her folds. Then he bent close, noting the way her fingers grabbed the edge of the seat as she fell back, scooting her butt closer to the edge and her pussy against his mouth.
Her scent, baby powder and subtle female musk, ripened as he stuck his nose into her folds and swirled his mouth and chin in the moisture spilling from inside her.
Her cunt lips flared then retreated, sucking at air, and he poked his stiffened tongue inside her, fucking her while his thumb rubbed her clit.
Her breaths grew ragged, tinged with moans, and she lifted her legs, hung her thighs over his shoulders and dug her heels into his back. He rimmed her entrance then lapped upward, pulling back her hood, then fluttering the tip of his tongue against her clit while he thrust two fingers inside her.
Her sex clenched around him, and more scalding liquid surrounded the digits, easing his way as he pumped inside her.
“Please, please,” she groaned.
His cock was engorged, the skin stretching painfully around it; his balls ached. He gently pushed her thighs off his shoulders and opened his pants, pushing them down just far enough so that he could reach inside and free his cock. His white dress shirt split around it; his pants framed the bottom side. The woman reached down and grabbed his shaft and scooted off the seat. Her feet parted over his spread thighs and she squatted over his cock, flexing thighs and buttocks to sink onto him, then rise and sink again.
His hands curved around her ass and bit into the soft flesh, forcing her pace faster, her downward thrust deeper. When her head fell back and her breasts scraped up and down through his chest hair, he powered upward, meeting her downward drives with sharp stabs of his cock, until she issued a short, strangled scream and came.
“Excuse me,” came a voice beside him. And the man beside him rose swiftly and headed out the door as the doors slid open.
Daniel was relieved for the interruption because he’d been seconds from an embarrassing eruption. He didn’t glance up to check the stops; he’d kept her in his sights the whole time he’d daydreamed about fucking her, and she hadn’t moved. They shared the same destination.
When she gathered her things, he folded his paper and placed it on the seat beside him, rubbing a hand surreptitiously over his cock to make sure it stayed against his belly, stiff but aligned with his zipper and therefore less noticeable. Then he sat forward.
The train rumbled to a stop. The doors swished open. The woman took a deep breath, shouldered her tote bag and rose. He followed her out the doors a second behind, not allowing anyone else to come between them. Not because he intended to stop her today, but because no one was going to steal his view of her backside as she walked ahead of him.
Goddamn, everything about her pleased him: her baby-powder scent, the bounce of her shiny shoulder-length hair, the twitch of her firm ass. She glanced to her side and reached into her purse, then glanced up and caught him looking.
Her eyes widened, then she stumbled, going down on her knees to the concrete platform. He followed so closely he had to straddle her to keep from kicking her. Her head came back, hitting him in the groin, and he doubled over, his fingers digging into her scalp to cup her head and push it back.
“Sorry.”
“Fu
ck.”
He couldn’t have said who said what, but he backed up and knelt beside her, grimacing at the ache in his balls. At least he didn’t have to worry about his erection anymore.
She cupped her knee and her face screwed up in pain. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice tight—rather like he’d often imagined it would sound when she was close to coming.
“You’re hurt.”
“Didn’t mean to hit you there.”
They both stared as people muttered and flowed like a river around them.
Daniel stuck out his hand. “I’ll help you up.”
Her hand settled inside his. Her fingers were slender, her palm warm. He grasped her firmly and stood, pulling her up with him. He didn’t let go of her as she wobbled a bit. “Gotcha,” he said, cupping her other arm as he held tightly to her hand.
She blinked; her cheeks filled with warm color. When she glanced down, she gasped. “Hell, and I didn’t bring a change of panty hose.”
“Maybe you should just take them off,” he said, staring at the ladders streaking down the shredded hose. When she gave him a startled look, he felt his own cheeks heat. “Didn’t come out quite right, did it?”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Thanks for the rescue.”
His heart thudded heavily against his chest. “Any time.”
“I’ve seen you before,” she said then swallowed hard.
He liked the melodic roll of her voice; not too high, but still feminine. “I’ve seen you, too.”
She glanced away and a deep breath blew between her pursed lips. “Guess I better go. Thanks again.” She pulled her hand from his, gave his face a quick but strangely poignant glance and turned away.
Daniel cursed his cowardice. “Wait a second.”
The woman glanced over her shoulder.
“I’ve been waiting too long to meet you to let you walk away before you promise to have dinner with me.” The words came out in a long, rambling growl and he felt his face warm.
Where a hint of humor curving her mouth had made his heart beat heavier, the full-blown beauty of the wide smile she gave him now took away his breath.
She reached into a pocket of her purse and pulled out a business card. “Call me?”
He glanced down at the card but couldn’t take anything in, just the fact that she hadn’t said no to his suggestion.
“You know,” she said, hesitating for second, “I’ve been waiting a long time, too.”
Daniel knew he was moving too fast, but his body was hot, ready to pounce, and her expression was open and she didn’t pull away as he leaned down to kiss her. It was just a quick, chaste touch of his mouth against hers. Her lips were soft. Her breath minty.
Another flow of people moved around them, and he shook his head. “I’ll call.”
She gave him a small, tight smile and turned away.
Daniel watched her move away, not liking the leaden feeling that weighed him down. He stepped out, unwilling to let her out of his sight. When he caught up with her, he cupped her elbow. “Promise I’m not a stalker, but would you have coffee with me?”
A gust of laughter shook her, but she quickly nodded. “I know just the place.”
THE EFFICIENCY EXPERT
Portia Da Costa
Oh, no, he’s here. The efficiency expert. He’s in my favorite bar on my favorite stool, just when I thought we’d got rid of him.
I’m supposed to be here celebrating. The company’s efficiency review is finally over, and I’ve kept my job by the skin of my teeth. I thought that hyena of a consultant or troubleshooter or whatever the hell he is would be long gone by now and good riddance. But what do I find? He’s still here and drinking in the very place where I’m about to toast his departure.
Noah Stevens, that selfsame efficiency troubleshooter slash corporate carnivore. The very monster everybody’s so glad to see the back of, even if he is unbearably cute and sexy in his stern, almost machinelike sort of way.
He doesn’t look stern tonight, though, or even remotely mechanical. In fact, he looks as weary as hell, almost shattered somehow, as if he’s been punched in the gut by fate. Could this be a pang of unexpected sympathy I’m feeling? Workwise, he’s been beyond a nightmare, but somehow with shoulders slumped, his blond hair a bit ruffled and a slightly rubbed-out look about his eyes, not to mention what looks like a quadruple vodka in front of him, he looks strangely vulnerable: kind of tender and touchable; definitely in need of a hug.
Shall I run for it? Get discreetly out of here and join the festivities with the other survivors? I’m tempted, but something about the line of his body intrigues and stirs me. I must admit, I have a few types, and as a Mr. Sharp Suit Corporate, he’s not really one of them. And yet, even though he’s made my life a hell of uncertainty these past few weeks, I do—reluctantly—fancy him something rotten.
He turns from the bar and makes my decision for me.
“Hi, Susie. Are you drinking?” he taps the stool next to the one where I usually sit. “Have one on me…. I think I owe you one, if not three or four.”
Well, ain’t that the truth!
“Okay. Yes…that’d be great.” I slide onto the stool. Up close, he looks quite different from the barracuda of the office. The jacket of his sharp business suit is on the stool beyond, and the shirt beneath looks deliciously soft and molds to the shape of his shoulders and chest—his broad, deep chest. I’ve never actually seen him out of his tailored corporate armor before, but he’s a beautiful male treat, now that he’s revealed to me a bit of what previously I’ve only speculated about.
His thighs are nice, too, strong looking as he adjusts his position on the stool slightly. As he signals to the barman, I can’t help wondering what his cock is like. Is he big? He looks as if he might be, but it’s difficult to get a clear view without being caught blatantly ogling him. The way he shifted in his seat just then makes me speculate that he might have a hard-on…for me? Just like that? Such wild, untamed sexiness seems totally at odds with his until-now strictly controlled persona.
I request what he’s having and get a double gin, over ice. Not my usual tipple, but it’s somehow both head clearing and intoxicating, a bit like Noah himself really.
We clink glasses and stare into each other’s eyes. His look reddened by fatigue and perhaps something else, and the fact that he allows me time to note this is like a pact between us. We’ve barely spoken about anything but work, but now, everything seems fair game.
“Well, you look worn out…terrible, in fact….” It’s a lie. For all his fatigue, he still looks fabulous. “Must be hard work threatening people’s jobs and putting the fear of God into them. Surely you’re not feeling pangs of guilt?” I swig my gin and watch his pink tongue sweep out and lick droplets of his own drink from his lips. My pussy clenches convulsively; shockingly. The image of that tongue sweeping between my labia makes me almost rock on my stool.
“No, not guilt. I’m not ashamed of being tough on the company, and that’s a fact.” His head comes up, defiant. In a flash of all-business Noah, the look in his eyes hardens and he’s a warrior. “That place was full of dead wood, and it needed shaking up.” He reaches for his glass, drains it, orders two more without consulting me.
“You’re right there. But what is it? There’s something… You look shattered. Have you had some bad news?” It seems perfectly okay to challenge him now, ask probing questions. I feel like a warrior, too, and with my pussy still throbbing, I imagine myself subduing him in bed, kneeling over him, holding down his arms while I force him to tongue me. The picture’s so vivid that I have to gulp down a big mouthful of my own drink.
Noah drinks again, too. He seems to have quite a capacity for it. But his eyes are dead level and sober as he answers me.
“Girl trouble.” He shrugs elegantly, his face both wry and strangely wounded as he stares back at me.
Now how come I subconsciously suspected that? He’s an invulnerable hard case, but like all hard cases,
he has an Achilles’ heel, too. And his is a romantic susceptibility, it seems. I don’t know how I knew, but clearly some woman somewhere has hurt him.
“Sorry to hear that,” I offer cautiously. I lick my lips, suggesting solace.
He gets the message and straightens up on his stool, flaunting his gorgeousness. And the more I see, the more gorgeous he seems. “There’s one way to deal with it, though.” His eyes narrow in my direction.
I don’t question because I don’t need to.
“Hair of the dog…or should I say bitch?” He gives a little shrug and a quirk of his lips at his lapse in political correctness then slips off his stool, swoops up his jacket and briefcase and starts walking. I follow, suddenly well aware that the Royale Bar is in the lobby of a large hotel, and this is probably where he’s staying.
This is crazy; unexpected and yet expected. It’s been building since he first walked into the office, but we’re both too professional to have succumbed to it.
I’m not wrong about his intention, or mine, and once we’re in the lift together, he confirms everything I suspected. His briefcase falls to the floor with a clop and his jacket follows it. In one beat of my heart, he’s manhandled me up against the mirrored wall and stuck his tongue in my mouth and his hand up my skirt. He kisses me hard, jabbing, and grabs my crotch through my panties and gives it a rough, possessive squeeze.
Now this is what I call an efficiency expert!
I nearly come on the spot, I’m so excited. My head whirls, full of his delicious cologne, the one that’s tantalized me all the time he’s been with us, and the fumes of our shared gin. I anoint my knickers with lusty juice, and his laugh of slightly tipsy victory seems to vibrate through both our bodies.
“I knew I was right about you!” He’s triumphant, and he’s still working me, even as he stares into my face, his eyes like stars. “I knew you were a sexy woman under all the seriousness. I knew you fancied me.” Swiveling his wrist, he changes his hold on me, and his fingertips prize aside my knickers-gusset. Then he’s in, right in, flicking at my clit, while with his other hand, he’s round the back, squeezing my bottom cheek through my skirt. “God knows I’ve fancied you, Susie. It’s nearly killed me.”
Passion Page 18